Don't Drink and Be Fang
by independentwriter-137
Summary: Fang can't remember anything from the night before, a night that apparently included tattoos, vampire fangs and pink t-shirts. Proof that Fang and alcohol are a very bad mix. AU. FAX!
1. 01 The Morning After

_A/N. So I this is an AU and none of the characters have wings. Anyway, I was thinking about what a drunk Fang would be like, which led me to think about why Fang would ever get drunk in the first place and it developed into a story. It's mostly humor, but it does have an actual plot. I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

**-Don't Drink and Be Fang-**

Chapter One: The Morning After

* * *

_FANG_

I'm sure it was a lovely morning with birds singing outside and the sun shining brightly. I'm sure that most people were waking up with a smile on their face and were going off to make themselves a nice cup of coffee.

If it was, I wouldn't have noticed because there was only one thought one my mind when I woke up:

_Who the hell replaced my brain with a freaking bomb?_

I've woken up to a lot of bad things like Max jumping on top of my bed until I either got up or fell off, Iggy and Gazzy putting a snake in my bed that launched the full on prank war, and ice cold water being dumped onto my head courtesy of Max again.

I would've taken any one of those things over the skull shattering pain I felt right then.

I vaguely wondered if this is anything like the brain attacks Max used to get, but that thought it quickly replaced by something slightly more meaningful at the moment:

Ow, ow, _ow!_

I heard the door open and it sounded so much louder than usual, like someone rigged my room with stereos. I managed to crack my eyes opened slightly and I instantly regret it.

_Can someone turning the freaking sun off? _I didn't remember my room being quite so bright. The whole theme of my room is darkness after all.

Through the haze of brightness I could still make out a flash of strawberry blonde hair.

Iggy.

"It's alive!" he said dramatically. It was like he was screaming directly into my ear, even though he wasn't. I could feel every word pound into my brain.

Did I even still have a skull or was my brain exposed to the world?

"Too loud," I croaked, my voice scratchy.

Iggy gave me an unholy grin and increased the volume of his voice on purpose. Jerk. "What's the matter, Fangles?" he asked, "Not feeling so good?"

He was mocking me! There I was in great pain and he was mocking me. As soon as my brain turns back to normal, I was going to _kill_ him.

"What did you do to me?" I asked and try to glare as best I can, but even I know it was pathetic.

This has got to be one of Iggy pranks and it's really, _really_ not funny.

"Me?" he raised an eyebrow. "I'm afraid this is all _you._"

My mind was reeling, well as much as it could at that moment. How was this my fault? I don't remember bashing my head in with a sledge hammer. Actually, when I thought about it, I couldn't remember much of last night period.

He stepped away from me and gave me a glass of water and a Tylenol. Groaning, I managed to sit up and I became very aware of two things: one, I was wearing a pink shirt, and two; I had a tattoo of...something on my arm.

Wait, make that three. I used my tongue to feel my teeth and I had...fangs?

_Holy. Crap._

"What the heck is this?" I would have yelled if my brain could have handled it.

"Don't worry, it's just henna, not a real tattoo," he assured me.

I yanked the fangs off and was relieved to find out they weren't real. But still, what the heck were plastic fangs to in my mouth? I threw them on the ground and Iggy smothered a laugh.

"Seriously, Fang? Don't you think you're taking the whole _'Fang'_ theme a little too seriously?"

I ignored him. "What happened?" I asked again. I rubbed my temples, trying to relieve the pain in my head.

"You got drunk and now you're hung over," he said bluntly. I could tell he was trying not to laugh, but a smile was already beginning to break through.

"No," I argued. "That's not right. I don't drink."

He let out a snort of laughter and shook his head at me. "Apparently you do. I should know; I spent most of last night taking care of you."

I shook my head then stopped when it did nothing but add a wave of nausea. "Oh God, please let this be a joke."

"Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on how you look at it, it's not," Iggy grinned. "You really don't remember?"

"Does it look like I remember?" I said miserably.

"Lucky for you then, you have me to fill you in on most of the details," Iggy told me.

"Most?"

He ignored me. "First, let's start off with one of my favorite moments of last night. I took the liberty of loading a certain video on _YouTube_."

I grimaced, "A video?"

He plopped my laptop next to me and made the screen face me.

Ouch. The screen suddenly seemed very, very bright.

"Apparently, someone caught you in your drunken state and uploaded it on _YouTube._"

Did life hate me? This seriously cannot be happening. This is not real. The worst thing I've done all year was steal Iggy's bacon that one time, and while yes, that was a grave crime, it certainly wasn't worth _this._

"You're joking," I said.

"Nope, a drunken Fang for all to see," he told me.

I took a breath and steeled my nerves. I could do this. I mean how bad could it be?

Understatement of the year.

Hesitantly, I pressed the play button and sure enough, there I was. At least there was a very drunk version of me.

I was standing on top of one of the tables at the bar and almost everyone was looking at me. I'm pretty sure one girl just mouthed, "That loser's _really_ wasted."

_Please don't sing, please don't sing_, I pleaded silently.

And I didn't sing.

I did something much, much worse.

_"I'm not going to sing 'cause how cliché would that be? No, ladies and gentleman, I am going to recite a poem—a poem I am going to make at this very moment. It's original so no one try to steal it."_

I watched myself clear my throat and my headache was momentarily forgotten. It was just that bad.

_"Twinkle, twinkle little star,_

_How I wonder what you are,_

_Up above the world so high,_

_Like a diamond in the sky,_

_Twinkle, twinkle little star,_

_How I wonder what you are,"_

No, no, no, no, no. This is bad. This is very, very, bad. Iggy, on the other hand, found it very amusing and was laughing his head off.

I glared at him and I reached to turn off the video.

"Wait!" Iggy cried, "It's not done."

As if what I'd seen wasn't enough.

_"That's actually pretty good. Does anyone have a napkin? I wanna write that down. Man, I'm a geniu—"_

I winced as drunken me fell of the table with a very loud _thud._ The video finally turned off and you could hear a lot of laughter in the background.

I could not believe this was on the internet. I was just glad there weren't that many views and I prayed to God it stayed that way. I will find the uploader of this video and I will _make_ them delete it if it's the last thing I do.

As embarrassing and horrible as that video was, it still didn't explain where the t-shirt, the tattoo, and the fangs came from.

Iggy noticed my expression and placed a hand on my shoulder, "Oh Fangy Boy, we've barely scratched the surface of last night."

* * *

_A/N. Oh Fang, what I have in store for you. So what do you think? Continue or not? And yes, all members of the Flock will make an appearance._

_Tell me what you think through a review! If nobody reviews then I'll take that as a "don't continue."_

_-Indy_


	2. 02 The Poem

_A/N. I'm glad you guys liked it! I have to say drunk Fang is pretty fun to write and read, so here's the next chapter!_

* * *

**-Don't Drink and Be Fang-**

Chapter Two: The Poem

* * *

_Recap:_

_As embarrassing and horrible as that video was, it still didn't explain where the t-shirt, the tattoo, and the fangs came from._

_Iggy noticed my expression and placed a hand on my shoulder, "Oh Fangy Boy, we've barely scratched the surface of last night."_

* * *

_Present…_

_FANG_

"So why exactly did I end up in a bar?" I asked, still reeling from the whole _Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star _incident.

Iggy thought for a moment and pretended to stroke his imaginary beard. "Well, you weren't exactly the most coherent guy on earth yesterday. Most of what you said was complete poppycock." He paused then laughed. "I said poppycock."

Sometimes, I wonder if _he's_ the one who's drunk. "Iggy…" I warned.

He raised his hands up in an _I surrender_ fashion and said, "If I had to guess, I'd say Max."

I buried my face in my hands and groaned. Of course it was Max. It's _always_ Max.

"You basically said, _'Blah, blah, blah, Max, blah, blah, blah, Max, Max, Max',_" he told me, even making talking gestures with his hand. He thought for a moment and a grin spread across his face, "Which come to think of it isn't too different from what you sound like when you're sober."

I glared at him, but he didn't seem to mind. "What did I say _exactly?"_

"Well I have no idea how you got there, but for me it all started with a phone call…"

* * *

_12 hours earlier…_

"Are you _drunk?"_ Iggy asked incredulously.

Fang laughed—not the quiet chuckles like he usually does, but full on laughing. "Drunk as a skunk!" he confirmed. "Not that skunks get drunk. Or maybe they do. They don't exactly give skunks breathalyzer tests."

Iggy laughed, "Someone's feeling chatty. I think you just passed your word limit."

"You know what has a limit? _Me._ I know cause' I reached mine when I headed over to Max's a while ago," Fang told him.

"Max's place? What happened?" Iggy asked, taking a seat next to his friend.

"Well," Fang hiccupped and laughed like he said something funny. "Max said she just broke up with that jerk face Dylan, so naturally I was like, really happy. So I headed over there and I was finally going to confess that I'm totally in love with her and then I see Dylan at her place! Dylan the schmuck face—Come to think of it I don't know his last name. Maybe his last name should be Schmuck Face."

Iggy shook his head, slightly amused and slightly worried. "Look, dude, I get it that you like—"

"_Love,"_ Fang corrected.

"—_love_ Max, but maybe you should find someone else for a while. I mean, look at you! You're _drunk._"

"Drunk as a skunk!" Fang repeated.

"Yes, you said that already," Iggy told him.

"I did?"

"Yes, you did."

Iggy waited for Fang to say something else, but he looked like he was in deep thought. Maybe he was taking what Iggy said to heart. Don't get him wrong, he does want Max and Fang to get together, but it was really lousy seeing Fang like this—no matter how amusing it was.

Fang looked at Iggy, all traces of humor from it gone and Iggy thought that maybe Fang didn't really drink _that_ much and he was sobering up a bit. Maybe some of his famous common sense was kicking back in and—

"Why do drunk people always sing?"

Never mind.

"What do you mean?" Iggy asked.

Fang shrugged. "It's such a cliché. When someone's drunk, they sing. I mean why do they always _sing?_ It's especially bad if they can't sing, which most drunk people can't."

An image of a singing Fang popped into Iggy's head and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't tempted to let him do it, but his conscience got the better of him. "Don't sing then, I'll take you home, Fang."

Fang nodded, "You're right, I shouldn't sing."

"Great, let's go—"

"I'll recite a poem!" Fang decided. "I'll recite my very own original poem."

Iggy hesitated, "I don't think that's such a good idea…"

Too late.

Fang was standing on top of their table and waving his arms to get everyone's attention.

"I'm not going to sing 'cause how cliché would that be? No, ladies and gentleman, I am going to recite a poem—a poem I am going to make at this very moment. It's original so no one try to steal it," he said.

Well, if he was going to make a fool of himself, who was Iggy to stop it.

So he decided to sit back and watch the show.

* * *

_Present…_

_FANG_

"I get it, and then I did _that,_" I grimaced.

"So, as you just heard, I was being the responsible, helpful friend—"

"A lot of good that did me," I muttered.

Iggy raised an eyebrow at me, "It's not my fault you don't listen."

I tried to remember going to Max's place, but even that was fuzzy. The most I could recall was walking on my way there then…nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Ladies and gentleman, here's a word to the wise: don't drink. Just don't. There are absolutely no benefits to it. It makes you do stupid stuff and gives you a killer headache when you wake up. Now that I think about it, alcohol doesn't even _taste_ good.

"So I go back to my question: how did I get the pink shirt, the fangs, and the tattoo?" I asked.

"Well," Iggy said dramatically, "I have no idea where the shirt came from, but I can explain the fangs and the tattoo."

I raised an eyebrow, "If you were monitoring me the whole time, how do you not know where the shirt came from?"

Iggy shrugged, "You weren't in it when I finally brought you home. I'm just as surprised as you were."

That made my eyebrows shoot up in probably the most surprised looking expression I've ever made…well ever made sober, that is. "So where did the shirt come from? I couldn't just magically appear on me!"

Iggy made a helpless gesture with his hands, "I don't know. My best bet is that you got out after I put you to bed."

Holy (insert swear word of your choice). If I was _already_ that bad with Iggy with me…

Oh dear Lord.

I sighed and rubbed my temples. This was _not_ helping the headache. "Fine," I relented. "How did I get the fangs and the tattoo then?"

Iggy grinned and finally pulled up a chair to sit down. I had a feeling this would take a while. "I'm so glad you asked…"

* * *

_A/N. Fang, Fang, Fang...this will be fun._

_So how'd you guys like it? Any ideas on where the fangs and tattoo came from? How about any theories to the mysterious pink shirt?_

_Review!_

_-Indy_


	3. 03 The Tattoo

_A/N. Yay! Halfway through, I think. There should be six chapters to this, maybe seven or eight. I have to say I really enjoy writing this, Fang is so much fun to mess with._

* * *

**-Don't Drink and Be Fang-**

Chapter Three: The Tattoo

* * *

_Recap:_

_I sighed and rubbed my temples. This was not helping the headache. "Fine," I relented. "How did I get the fangs and the tattoo then?"_

_Iggy grinned and finally pulled up a chair to sit down. I had a feeling this would take a while. "I'm so glad you asked…"_

* * *

_12 hours earlier…_

"I wasn't _done,_ Iggy. I had, like, five other poems ready!" Fang pouted like a kid.

"You mean we missed out on five more plagiarized nursery rhymes? Well then you might as well kill me now," Iggy said sarcastically.

When Fang woke up after he passed out, Iggy quickly took him by the shoulder and led him out of the bar. The whole time Fang was complaining about how Iggy was such a killjoy. Iggy was actually beginning to miss the days Fang _didn't_ talk. Where was that Fang? This Fang was just _annoying._

"Exactly! The whole crowd was looking at _me._ They were waiting for my next poem!" Fang argued. "Take me back!"

Iggy sighed and rubbed his temples. "You have spent too much time around Nudge, my friend."

"Nah, Nudge talks way too much. It's like she's one of those infomercials that just go on and on and on..."

"Yes, like an infomercial. Now come on so I can get some shut eye," Iggy ordered, but Fang wasn't listening.

"You know what Nudge does, Iggy? She works at a tattoo parlor. Maybe I should get a tattoo," Fang mused.

Iggy raised an eyebrow, "And what tattoo would you get?"

Fang thought for a moment, as if he were trying to unravel the secrets of the universe. Then suddenly, his face lit up when he thought of something.

For Iggy, it was pretty unnerving to see. Mr. No Emotions was practically wearing his heart on his sleeve. It was like the sky turning green or Voldemort becoming good. It just didn't happen.

"I'll get a tattoo of Max!" Fang exclaimed.

Iggy laughed out loud. Man, he would give _anything _to see Max's reaction to half the things Fang had said.

Fang nodded earnestly, "I'll make sure they get her chocolate-y brown eyes and makes sure they get her hair just right. She has pretty hair, brown and full of sun streaks. They're not salon done either like most girls, which makes it even better..."

Iggy tuned Fang out as he considered letting his friend get the tattoo, it certainly would be talked about for _years._ Under other circumstances, he might have let Fang do it, if not just for the pure humor of it, but Iggy felt...sorry for Fang. The love sick, mumbling idiot was just heart broken because he had been hopelessly in love with the same girl since they were twelve and she was with someone else.

"Look, man, maybe some other time..." Iggy trailed off and noticed with a start that Fang was nowhere in sight. "Fang?"

True to Fang fashion, he just disappeared.

* * *

_Present…_

_FANG_

"You lost me?" I hissed, glaring at the thing, which did not look at _all_ like Max, on my arm.

Iggy glared right at me, "Dude, you're _Fang: _the guy who blends in with everything. You're like a freaking shadow sometimes!"

I grimaced, but I knew it was true. If I wanted to get away from Iggy last night, drunk or not I would've found a way. "Fine, you're right."

I watched as Iggy began to grin again, "Say it again? I didn't quite hear you."

"You were right," I said through gritted teeth.

"Damn straight, I'm right!" Iggy agreed. "I have been absolutely wonderful. I picked you up from the bar, saved your from further public humiliation, managed to find you after you ran away-though not soon enough to stop you from ruining your tattoo," Iggy pointed out and gave a satisfied grin. "Yeah, I'm awesome, I know."

"Iggy?" I interrupted his little praise the Igster speech. "Get on with it."

Iggy rolled his eyes and said something like, "Ungrateful little fruit fly."

He cleared his throat dramatically and said, "So anyway, I did the natural thing to do. After searching for you everywhere, I called Nudge..."

* * *

_11 hours earlier..._

"He was there, but I'm not stupid. I am _not_ letting Fang getting a tattoo of Max's face on his arm. Personally, I think there should be a law against people getting a tattoo while they're drunk cause' they always regret it in the end—"

"_Nudge,_" Iggy interrupted her.

"Oh, sorry. I'm with him at the henna tattoo place across the street. There is no changing this guy's mind, at least it's not permanent," Nudge told him.

Iggy nodded, then felt slightly stupid when he realized that Nudge couldn't see it. He was more tired than he thought. "On my way," he said.

"You owe me an explanation when you get here. Fangy here won't say anything else except how wonderful he thinks Max is, which is honestly really sweet. Seriously, when are they going to get together?" Nudge asked.

"Tell me about it," he muttered, thinking of all the trouble he'd be saved if _Fax_ just happened. "Talk to you when I get there," he said then he hung up.

Iggy placed a hand over his eyes and exhaled tiredly, "I like him better when he's an silent emo wall."

* * *

_11 hours earlier..._

Nudge watched slightly horrified and slightly amused as Fang started rubbing his freshly done henna tattoo.

"It's not _right!_ Max is so much prettier than that! Did you not see the picture I gave you?" Fang complained and smudged his tattoo this way and that.

When Fang took out a picture of Max from his wallet, she almost squealed at how sweet it was. For all his emotionless façade, he was such a romantic, in Nudge's opinion.

She didn't even see anything wrong with the tattoo. It was an almost exact duplicate of the picture of Max, but for Fang it wasn't good enough. She doubted any tattoo would really be good enough though. She was fully convinced the only thing that would satisfy him was the real Max.

The man who just did the tattoo shook his head in bewilderment as Fang ruined his very expensive henna tattoo. "Sir, that's non-refundable."

Fang made a face, "Who cares? You suck."

The man stood up, seeming to forget that Fang wasn't exactly in his right mind at the moment.

Nudge tugged on his sleeve. "Come on, Fang. We'll just be leaving now."

"Yeah," Fang agreed. "My arms has been _ruined."_

Nudge seriously considered duct taping his mouth as they made it out of the shop without a full on fist fight. They waited outside for Iggy while Fang looked sadly at the blob of ink all over his arm.

He looked up at Nudge and she could've sworn she had never seen so much emotion in Fang before. She was slightly tempter to run away and yell, "It's the apocolypse!" with her hands in the air. "It's not pretty enough," he told her.

Nudge nodded sympathetically, "I know."

"I miss her," Fang said.

Then Iggy finally caught up to them, panting slightly. Just as he was about to talk, he caught sight of the horrible...thing on Fang's arm. "What _is_ that?"

Fang looked at him, completely deadpanned. "Not Max."

* * *

_A/N. That was fun, very fun._

_If any of you guys are interested, I have another multi-chap story out called _Guardian Angel_ where Fang's a masked vigilante (minus the tights and the cape, of course.) Check it out if you can!_

_Review!_

_-Indy_


	4. 04 The Fangs

_A/N. Okay, so how to start explaining my leave of absence...oh I've got it. It's a little something called school that sucks out all your free time then demands more than 24 hours in one day._

_Seriously, I'm really sorry, guys. All I've wanted to do lately is update, write, and read, but all I seemed to have time for was school school _school. _It sucks. Anyway, I promise that I am not giving up on this story or my other story entitled _Guardian Angel. _It might take some intervals in between chapters...but please bear with me._

_But excuses aside, here's what you're really here for:_

* * *

**-Don't Drink and Be Fang-**

Chapter Four: The Fangs

* * *

_Present..._

_FANG_

I thought about the picture of Max I had in my wallet. It was taken while we were celebrating our high school graduation at Max's Mom's house. She made all this Mexican food and three batches of her famous chocolate chip cookies.

Max didn't know I had that picture because I took it when she wasn't looking. She was just so _happy_ and content that I had to take a picture. I kept it in my wallet ever since.

Then, I looked at the horrible black smudge on my arm.

Smiling Max, black hole of nothingness.

At least drunk Fang was right about one thing: the tattoo was _not_ Max.

I had to keep reminding myself that the tattoo was _not_ permanent and I wasn't going to have to live with it for the rest of my life.

Iggy was still laughing at me, shoulders shaking with mirth. "I don't know," he said, "It kind of fits in with your whole black motif thing, doesn't it?"

I grimaced, "Not funny."

He held his hands up in mock surrender and said, "Okay, okay. Moving on to _another_ interesting part of the story now..."

"Interesting?" I muttered, more to myself than him.

But of course, Iggy heard and yet another unholy grin spread across his face. "Oh yeah, interesting."

* * *

_10 hours earlier..._

Fang was muttering to himself about how horrible the tattoo was and how he should've gotten it done by a real tattoo artist instead of some dude who uses henna.

"What is henna, anyway?" Fang mused out loud, "Who would want a henna tattoo? _Henna_ it sounds so girly."

Iggy glanced at his friend as he led him back to the apartment. "You're the only person I've ever heard call henna _girly."_

Fang ignored him and just stared ahead as they walked back to the apartment.

Iggy was relieved; he had half a mind to throw Fang into a mental institution if he kept up with all his babbling. Vaguely, Iggy wondered if all this crazy stuff actually went through Fang's head on a daily basis.

He silently thanked God for making Fang a quiet person. He couldn't deal with this every single day.

They finally reached the apartment and Iggy told Fang to stay on the couch for a moment while he went to make something warm for Fang to drink. Like an obedient puppy, Fang sat down and remained silent.

Iggy was tired. It was way past midnight and he spent most of his night chasing after a raving lunatic. He made a mental note to pull a prank on Max one of these days. After all, technically it was her fault that Fang got drunk in the first place.

Maybe a prank related to snakes. Or maybe one that involved her favorite Mickey Mouse alarm clock. Or maybe snakes _and_ her Mickey Mouse alarm clock. Yeah, that made Iggy smile.

He was about to bring out the stuff he needed to make hot chocolate when he heard something. It was barely something to worry about, more like someone dropped a pen or something, but with Fang's state of mind...

He shook it off and heated the water instead. It couldn't be that bad it couldn't wait for a few minutes.

_Crash!_

Or not.

Iggy went rushing into the living room again, hoping that Fang didn't break anything valuable like the TV or their stereo.

And when he got there, he stopped dead in his tracks.

* * *

_Present..._

"And then, Iggy? And then what happened?" Iggy said in a really bad impression of my voice.

"I don't sound like that," I told him.

He waved me off, "Not the point. The point is now is the time you ask the wonderful Igster what happened next."

I sighed and rubbed my temples again. I glared at him the best I could, but even I knew that after that night, it would take a while for the glare to mean anything. "Oh, Figster, will you please tell me what happened next?" I said in the most sarcastic tone I could muster.

He wrinkled his nose at the Figster part, but otherwise accepted it.

"Meh, good enough," he decided and led me to the living room.

He swept his arm dramatically around the room, gesturing to the turned over chairs, the millions of paper lying around, the cabinets that looked like they've been ransacked by a raging bear.

"This part of the story," he said, pausing for dramatic effect, "requires a little visual aid."

"I did this?" I asked.

Iggy nodded, "Yup, and after our little storytelling, you're cleaning it up."

* * *

_9 hours earlier..._

"FANG!" Iggy almost yelled, but caught himself just in time.

Fang stuck his head out from his bedroom. "Yes?"

"What the frex did you do?" Iggy said furiously. He turned his back to make hot chocolate for a few minutes and now their place looks like a nuclear bomb was dropped on it.

Fang grinned like he was genuinely happy that Iggy asked. "Well remember when we were five and I dressed up as Dracula for Halloween and I went around biting people and Max nicknamed me Fang for that? And remember last year when she gave me a pair of fangs as a joke because they _still_ call me Fang because of that? Well except my mom because she still calls me Nick..."

Iggy gave him a look of pure incomprehension. His living room, the one that was fine _five_ minutes ago was gone and Fang was talking about, well...fangs.

"Anyway," Fang continued, "I'm looking for the fangs now."

For a while Iggy just stood there as Fang pulled all their belongings all over the floor before he shook his head and went into Fang's room. He reached into the back of the closet where he knew Fang kept a box filled with knick knacks that he's kept after all these years.

Finally, he threw it at Fang who caught it happily.

Fang, who was holding a bowl to see if he somehow put it there by accident, dropped the bowl when he caught it and Iggy winced at the sound of breaking glass.

"You know, I don't know why she decided to call me _Fang._ I mean, I was wearing these false teeth that have two fangs; so technically, she should have called me _Fangs_. Then I'd be liked, '_Hi, my name's Fangs, what's yours?'"_ Fang said before sticking the pair of plastic fangs in his mouth.

He made a half-grimace, half-sneer and tried to look fearsome before breaking into laughter.

After a while of standing there dumbfounded, Iggy started to laugh too. "Okay_, Fangs_, just please sit still for a moment and I'll give you something that will put you right to bed."

He went to finish making the hot chocolate (that may or may not have had _tiny_ amount of sleep medication), and handed it to Fang.

Then after five minutes, Fang was _finally_ asleep. The whole ordeal was over.

If Iggy had the energy, he would've broken out into song.

But he didn't, so sleep would have to do.

* * *

_Present..._

"You drugged me?" I scolded.

Iggy raised his eyebrows, "That's what you take out from the story?"

I sighed and gave him a pointed look, "Dude, so not cool."

"Hey," I didn't know what else to do," Iggy defended himself. "Besides, _apparently_ I didn't drug you enough," he said, gesturing to my pink shirt.

"I must have woken up and gotten out," I agreed reluctantly.

Iggy nodded, "And I was too asleep to hear you."

I racked my head for something, _anything_ that I might've done last night, something that included a change in my wardrobe.

And then something clicked.

I ran back into my room and I saw it, right where I was sitting while Iggy was telling me about the horrors of the previous night, was my cellphone.

My head hurt too much for me to concentrate on anything else, but now that I think about it...

I was sitting on my phone the entire time. Great.

Iggy followed me and noticed my phone too. "That wasn't with you last night when I picked you up," his eyes widened.

Did I call someone? I remembered leaving it near the wall because I was charging it, but if Iggy didn't unplug it and I didn't unplug it before I was drunk, then that only left one alternative.

I turned to Iggy and handed him the phone. "You look who I last dialed then tell me if it was that bad."

"If it was your mom, she's going to kill you, you know that, right?" Iggy told me.

I nodded, dreading the name he was about to say.

"Oh."

"Oh what?" I asked.

He looked at me as if he was debating whether to tell me or not.

"Well?" I urged.

He took a breath and showed me the phone. Let me tell you, it was _not_ my Mom.

"Max," he sighed.

_Crap._

* * *

_A/N. There you have it, folks, the intro to the mysterious pink shirt. And as you might have guessed, Max will be appearing in the next chapter!_

_Any guesses what happens next?_

_Oh, and for the readers who also read my other story _Guardian Angel,_ new chapter will be up tomorrow!_

_Thanks again for all your support and for being so patient with me. You guys are awesome._

_Please review! This was one of my longest chapters to make up for the slow updates!_

_-Indy_


	5. 05 The Phone Call

_A/N. MAX'S CHAPTER, FOLKS! This marks Max's first appearance in the story! Enjoy!_

* * *

**-Don't Drink and Be Fang-**

Chapter Five: The Phone Call

* * *

_Recap:_

_He looked at me as if he was debating whether to tell me or not._

_"Well?" I urged._

_He took a breath and showed me the phone. Let me tell you, it was not my Mom._

_"Max," he sighed._

_Crap._

* * *

_Present..._

_FANG_

I called Max.

Correction: I _drunk_ called Max.

Great.

"How could you let me call Max while I was drunk?" I asked Iggy.

He raised his hands up defensively, "I thought you were asleep."

"Maybe _you_ were asleep," I muttered.

It was amazing how your morning could go from bad, to really bad, to horrible, to downright awful in just a few short hours.

Note to self: _Don't drink and be Fang._

"Should I call her? Explain that I was drunk?"

Iggy bit back a laugh and shook his head, "I doubt she wasn't able to tell you were drunk."

I rolled my eyes at him, "You think that maybe she knows where I went?"

"It's possible," Iggy agreed. "What the heck, go call her. It can't get any worse than whatever you said last night."

I sighed loudly and ran my fingers through my hair. "This is bad," I said.

"Very bad," Iggy agreed.

I glared at him half-heartedly. "Not helping."

He shrugged and threw my phone at me. "What's the worst thing you could have possibly said? _Hey, Max, I'm like totally in love with you and I have been for years so now I'm totally wasted because I'm bemoaning the fact that we're not together._"

"That is the worst thing I could have possibly said."

Iggy shook his head at me, a grin on his face. "Ah, Fang. You haven't been drunk that many times to know that saying that is definitely not the worst thing you could have said."

"For me it is," I retorted.

I looked at the phone and my finger hovered over the call button next to Max's name. Okay, so I drunk called Max. No big deal. Yes, I could have possibly ruined our friendship. Yes, I could have possibly said something terribly humiliating. And yes, I could have possibly confessed my undying love for her.

No big deal.

I pressed the call button.

_Ring. Ring. Ring._

With each ring, I couldn't tell if I'm secretly hoping she picks up, or if I was secretly hoping she _doesn't_ pick up.

Iggy gave me the _what-the-heck-is-going-on_ face and I told him to keep quiet.

Five rings. Six rings.

She wasn't answering.

Seven rings.

_"Hey, Fang, I was wondering when you were going to call,"_ Max's voice filtered into the receiver, amusement obvious.

At least she wasn't mad.

"Okay," I said, "How bad was it?"

I decided to put the phone on speaker and put Iggy out of his misery.

_"Oh," _Max said, but I could tell she was smiling, "_It was very bad."_

* * *

_8 hours earlier..._

Fang sat on a random street corner, not even sure how he got there exactly. All he knew was that somehow, he got out of the apartment and he wandered around for a while before getting lost. The street looked like a good place as any to sit, so he did.

At some point, he called Max, mostly blubbering about him being lost and how he was on some street called Second Street. For a second, he thought it said Sesame Street, but that wouldn't have made any sense.

"Fang!" Max yelled and got out of her car to go to him. "What the hell are you doing out there?"

He looked up at her hazily. Her blondish brown hair was all tangled and it was obvious she just got out of bed. He thought she looked pretty.

"Hi, Max!" He said brightly. He smiled because maybe Max didn't like him because he didn't smile enough, so he'd start smiling more now.

"You're drunk?" she realized. Then, she laughed. Fang liked it when she laughed. "C'mon, big fella, let's get you in the car."

"Hey, Max, did you know that Second Street is the most common street name? It's because First Street always gets changed to Main Street or something like that," Fang stated.

Max shook her head at him, slightly creeped-out with the chattier, drunker version of Fang.

She helped him stand up and Fang staggered into her car, feeling nauseous suddenly. He figured he shouldn't puke in Max's car. That wouldn't be attractive at all.

"No go back to Iggy's," Fang told her. Shaking his head for emphasis before realizing it made the nausea worse. "Iggy's asleep, been taking care of me all night."

Max nodded, "Sure. You can crash on my couch."

Max started to drive back to her house, assuming Fang had fallen asleep. Fang wasn't sure if he was asleep or not. He certainly felt like he was in a dream, all foggy and nonsensical.

He decided to keep quiet on the drive to Max's house, mostly because the motion of the car was making him feel sick.

By the time the car finally stopped, Fang couldn't take it anymore. "Hey, Fang—"

Too late, the car door was open, Fang was in the drive way, and vomit was all over the concrete.

Even through his drunken state, Fang could tell this wasn't the best thing he could do. He used the bottom of his shirt to wipe his mouth and gave Max a sort-of smile, hoping his teeth wasn't the same orange-y color as her floor.

Max laughed to herself and sighed. The way she figured it, Fang was going to clean it up when he was sober, not her, even if that meant her drive way stinking up for a night. "Come on, Fang. I've got an extra shirt you can use."

Like an obedient child, Fang followed.

First, Max made him go to the bathroom and mouthwash. She'd make him brush his teeth except she didn't have any spare toothbrushes.

She went inside her bedroom and started going through the drawer where Dylan kept his things. Dylan didn't really have any t-shirts. He always wore dress shirts. But at the very bottom, she found the one of the only t-shirts he owned—the one he usually used for sleeping.

Max could hear Fang gargling from where she was and sighed to herself, wondering why Fang went and got himself drunk. Last time she checked, Fang _never_ drank. He hated the way alcohol tasted and he hated it when his head wasn't clear. Plus, when she told him that she and Dylan broke up a few hours ago, he seemed _fine._

But then again, they hadn't really talked in a while, a few weeks actually. Max pursed her lips; it's been a while since she's talked to any of her friends. Things with Dylan had been so hectic that between him and he job, there wasn't much time for anything else.

She missed hanging out with Nudge and Iggy. She missed spending time with Gazzy and Angel and going to the park with them

But most of all, she missed talking to Fang. She remembered how they would spend entire Saturdays just having movie marathons and finishing boxes of pepperoni pizzas and bottles of Coca-Cola. Now, she realized she didn't know a lot about what was going on with Fang these days.

It seemed like her whole life now was Dylan and work. It shouldn't feel like a sacrifice. She should be _happy_ with how much Dylan is in her life. But she wasn't.

Like today for instance, they broke up this morning, but by seven, Dylan was back at her door with flowers and everything, asking for another chance. She told him she'd think about it.

Dylan and her had been together for the longest time, three years last month. It wasn't that he was a bad person or anything, in fact he was great. A lot of girls were jealous because he was what a lot of them considered perfect. But still, there was something...missing.

_It's Dylan,_ she told herself, shaking the feeling off.

She heard Fang leave the bathroom and she went to meet him in the living room.

"Here," she said, handing him the shirt.

Fang made a face at it. "It's pink."

"And your shirt is covered in puke," she retorted.

Fang sighed and started to change—right in front of her.

She quickly turned around, feeling her face turn scarlet. "A little warning next time," she muttered. Max wasn't a prude or anything, but this was _Fang._ The kid she grew up with and the kid she's known since he was still a little beanpole. He was like her...brother. Yeah, her brother.

"Why do you have a pink t-shirt? You hate pink," Fang asked her.

"It's Dylan's," she replied, sitting on the couch.

Fang made another face, "Then I _really_ don't want it. Pink is such a girly color. They keep saying it's for men, but I'm not buying it."

Max snorted, "Stop being such a baby Fang."

She felt him plop onto the couch next to her so she turned to him, smirking slightly as he picked on the pink t-shirt.

"I don't like it," Fang stated.

She rolled her eyes at him, "It's just a t-shirt, get over it. It's your own fault for puking on your own."

"I wasn't talking about the t-shirt," Fang muttered so softly that Max almost didn't hear him. Almost.

"What are you talking about?" she asked him. Fang got an irritated look on his face, and though Max shouldn't have been amused, she was. Fang was usually so emotionless that it was weird seeing him with his heart on his sleeve.

"I'm talking about you and Dylan. I don't like it. He's such a douche," he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"We've talked about this before, Dylan is a good guy," Max told him. "I love him," she said, but the words felt wrong in her mouth, just like they always have.

Fang was looking at her so intensely. Not just intense by a drunk person's standards, but intense even by _Fang_ standards. And that mean a lot.

Max felt like he could see right through her with that stare, all her secrets, all her lies, everything. It scared her, but at the same time, it didn't. Dylan has never looked at her like that.

Instead, Fang just said, "Take me home." Suddenly, seeming upset.

Max snapped out of her little thought process, "I thought you said—"

"Changed my mind," he said. "The couch is too small for me. I'll be getting cramps all night and I don't really want to do that."

Max sighed, "Okay, just don't puke in the car."

* * *

_7 hours earlier..._

Max turned on the music as she drove Fang back to his apartment. She made a face as country music flooded into the car. Don't get her wrong, country music was fine, but all Dylan listened to was country music. All Dylan _sang_ was country music.

So yeah, she was little sick of country music.

She changed the station and the sound of soft guitar strumming filled the car. She didn't know the song, but she decided to settle on it.

Max glanced at Fang, who was still silent. She cleared her throat, "So, mind explaining why you were drunk in the first place?"

"I wanted to be hazy for a while," Fang replied.

Max raised an eyebrow, "That's not like you."

He didn't answer, but instead closed his eyes as if he was concentrating on something important. Maybe his headache was starting to kick in. Max had been drunk once or twice before, and she knew from experience that hangovers weren't all that fun.

To her surprise, Fang started singing along to the song.

If you ask Max now, she's not sure how she managed to keep control of the wheel because she's pretty sure she was so shocked she swerved a little bit—not that Fang seemed to mind. He just kept singing.

Fang wasn't that great of a singer, to put it nicely. If anything, he was downright awful. He was all kinds of tone deaf. Max wouldn't be surprised if a deaf person covered their ears.

But as bad as he was, Max couldn't help but smile, and then she couldn't help but laugh. A drunk Fang singing his heart out was both wrong and adorable.

_"Does he watch your favorite movies?_

_Does he hold you when you cry?_

_Does he let you tell him all your favorite parts,_

_When you've seen it a million times?_

_Does he sing to all your music, _

_While you dance to Purple Rain?_

_Does he do all these things,_

_Like I used to?" _

Fang sang loudly as Max pulled up in front of his apartment building. Max shook her head at him and helped him out of the car while he was singing.

She made a mental note to remember this and tease Fang mercilessly tomorrow when he was sober enough to regret these things.

When they finally made it up, Max fumbled with her spare key as she unlocked the door and led Fang to his bedroom.

He was still singing.

Luckily, it wasn't as loud as before and she prayed that Iggy wouldn't wake up.

Just as Fang landed on his bed, he saw a pair of fangs that looked vaguely familiar to Max. He popped it in his mouth and snarled at Max. She laughed softly and shook her head at him.

Quickly, she brought out her phone and snapped a picture of him in the t-shirt and the fangs. This was _so_ going on her Facebook profile later.

"Hey, Max?" Fang said as he settled himself into his bed.

"Yeah, big guy?" she replied, sitting next to him on his bed.

"Does he watch your favorite movies?" he asked her seriously.

The urge to laugh bubbled in Max's throat. There Fang was, wearing fangs, in a pink t-shirt, drunk as all hell, and quoting a song to her—and he was being _serious._ Her first instinct was to laugh, but there was something about the way Fang was looking at her.

And suddenly, she thought of Dylan and how wonderful he was. How considerate and kind he was, how everyone said he was her perfect other half.

And then she thought about how in spite of everything, tonight with Fang was the most fun she's had in a while, mostly because she was with Fang, even if the drunk version of him was very far from the real thing.

He was still looking at her with the same intensity, dark eyes that went on forever. She was about to answer—to answer what, she doesn't know.

Luckily, she didn't have to because just as she was about to say something, Fang passed out.

Yup, Fang passed out right on her lap.

She gently pushed him off her and stood up.

_That's the end of that,_ she thought.

* * *

_Present..._

_FANG_

"I am _so_ sorry about that," I apologized to Max while Iggy was laughing his ass off.

_"It's no problem, I'm on my way there anyway. When I get there, you've got to explain what the heck happened to you," _Max demanded.

I sighed. "Sure, of course," I agreed.

_"Great, see you then,"_ she said and hung up.

I put down my phone and exhaled in relief.

It wasn't that bad. At least I didn't flat out tell her I was in love with her.

Sure, the singing was pretty bad, but I can still excuse it as being drunk.

"So what are you going to tell her?" Iggy asked me.

What was I going to tell her?

I couldn't tell her the truth, obviously. I'd make something up. I'd say anything except the truth.

"You should tell her the truth," Iggy advised me.

Thank you, Iggy, for stating the one option I was _not _going with. "You know I can't do that," I told him.

Iggy rolled his eyes at me, "Why not? It's the perfect opportunity."

"Not," I disagreed. She was with Dylan; she was _happy_ with Dylan. I wasn't going to screw it up for her.

"Look, man, you deserve to be happy, too," he said.

That was the moment I seriously considered the possibility that Iggy was a mind reader.

_Knock. Knock._

Max was here. The moment of truth has arrived.

Iggy gave me a meaningful look before going to open the door.

I sighed for the umpteenth time, time to make a decision.

* * *

_A/N. Just so you guys know, this is the third to the last chapter. I hope you enjoyed the Fax in this chapter!_

_And if you guys noticed, this is my longest chapter ever, so please, please r__eview!_

_-Indy_


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